


Mondays In the Underground

by Ashlanielle



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2018-03-17 11:40:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3528056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashlanielle/pseuds/Ashlanielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Mondays aren't so bad...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mondays In the Underground

**Author's Note:**

> This idea came to me when I was writing my Coffee Shop fic. It's just a bit of fluff. The music video for this Savage Garden song sorta inspired it. Hope you like it! ∞
> 
> I Knew I Loved You–Savage Garden

Most sane people have a natural disdain and dread for Mondays. Not him. While others eagerly anticipated the weekend release from the mundane work week, he preferred Monday—more specifically, Monday mornings. On Monday mornings, he got to see _her_. Every Monday, he made his way to the underground to catch the 7:20 on the Piccadilly line. He was completely oblivious to the hoard of commuters elbowing him on their way to their respective departure points, because his mind was preoccupied with seeing _her_ face.

He still didn’t know who “her” was exactly. Even though they had managed to ride in the same car almost every Monday for two months, they still hadn’t actually spoken to each other. The first time he saw her, he had just barely made it into the car as they announced “Mind the Gap.” Noticing that one of the corners of his coat was caught in between the doors, he began tugging on it. He became increasingly aggravated when it wouldn’t budge. He gave one more fierce tug and it finally came loose. Though he managed to reclaim his coat, his actions caused him to stumble into a petite elderly Asian woman, who then proceeded to spout what he supposed were a string of profanities, based on the angry look she was directing at him. After the woman had finished her tirade, he heard a soft melodic laugh. He honed in on its source—a young blonde woman holding a well-worn book and sitting at an angle to his left. They made eye contact. Realizing she had been caught, she quickly placed the book in front of her mouth and tried to contain herself, yet was rather unsuccessful. He felt a wide grin make its way across his face and began to faintly chuckle himself, partly due to embarrassment and partly because her laugh was infectious. 

He debated on making his way over to her, but the car was quite crowded and there was no way he could make an elegant or easy path. He hoped that maybe at the next stop he could make his way through to her. His hopes were disappointed, however, because at the next stop–Leicester Square–she stood and promptly exited. He never expected to see her again. The fact that he didn’t see her the rest of the week gave credence to that belief.  
  
To his surprise though, Monday morning, there she was again—only further down and this time holding onto an aisle pole, her nose in the same book. The car faintly rocked back and forth, causing the commuters to sway ever so slightly and block his obvious attempts to make eye contact with her. Somehow she sensed him and she looked up, catching him bobbing his head around to see her. Her cheeks pinked, and she flashed a bright smile with just the slightest bit of pink between her teeth, before turning her attention back to her book. He felt his face begin to flush. He found himself desperately wanting to meet this woman who made him feel like a giddy teenager. This time his path was slightly clearer, but it was of no use. He apparently had been too distracted staring to realize they were once again at Leicester Square. His gaze followed her as she made her way to the doors, his disappointment growing the further away she got. To his surprise but complete delight, she looked back and smiled at him before finally exiting. 

Next Monday couldn’t come soon enough for him, however his wait had been for naught. She wasn’t there. He chided himself for lacking the courage to approach her the last time. That was probably the last time he would ever see her again—no one could be that lucky. He finished the rest of the week moping.

_Not moping. I’m a grown man. Grown men don’t mope._

Come next Monday, he caught his usual tube and upon entering the car his eyes widened and mouth hung slightly agape. _She_ was there! Right there in front of him! The blonde who had been occupying his thoughts almost daily, was sitting there reading the exact same book as before. He could kiss Fate for her kindness. He heard an unusual noise that sounded like a mix between a gasp and a choke. When her eyes flickered upward to meet his, he realized that he had been the source of the noise. She realized it too, and he was again met with that winning smile. Ok, that decided it—he was going over to her. Yes, he was just going to walk up to her and be witty and charming and this would be a glorious Monday. That’s right…just…why weren’t his feet moving? He was definitely telling them to move, but apparently they weren’t getting the message. She was looking at him, and—was that anticipation in her eyes? No, surely not. He finally went to move, but as luck would have it, a young and heavily pregnant woman walked by. On seeing her, the blonde smiled and gave up her seat for her, and then slowly made her way to a free space. He decided he hated Fate. 

The next few Mondays they continued to spot each other, but still unable to meet. He would be on one end, she on the other. He would go to move, another passenger would move into his path. He couldn’t help but keep turning his gaze to her during their short commute together, eager to see that smile or see her bite on her lower lip as she read. Occasionally, he would catch her eyes on him, and their twinkling would cause a fluttering that he was quickly becoming quite fond of now. He was becoming increasingly frustrated with this seemingly unwinnable chase, and was beginning to come to terms with the fact he would have to be content with just seeing her—all pink and yellow and… _perfect_. 

But this Monday was different. Today she was sitting almost in the exact same seat as that first day. A few glances and smiles were exchanged between them, but nothing further. As the announcement for Leicester Square was given overhead, she stood and placed her book in the top of her bag. As she moved, the book dislodged and fell to the floor. Unaware, she kept moving. Without a second thought, he rushed forward, swiftly picked up the book, and flew out the doors. He looked around, not readily spotting her. Suddenly seeing her head towards the stairs, he rushed up to her and placed his hand on her shoulder. At his touch, she turned around. She smiled at him and her eyes widened, surprised and questioning. 

“You dropped this,” he said, holding the book out to her and smiling broadly.

“Oh!” she said as she took it from his hands. “I would’ve gone mad lookin’ for this. S’my favorite. Thank you..?” she trailed off, looking up at him expectantly.

It took a moment before he realized she was waiting for his name.

“John…John Smith.”

She smiled. “Rose Tyler,” she said, holding her hand out. His smile widened, becoming slightly silly as he shook her hand.

“Well, I’m gonna get somethin’ to eat,” Rose said, pointing to the exit. She turned her body slightly to go, but then turned around. “You comin’?” she asked, raising an eyebrow and holding her hand out for him. 

As he took her hand, he came to an irrefutable conclusion—Monday was definitely the best day of the week. 


End file.
